


I'm Not Looking For Forgiveness, I'm Way Past Asking For Permission

by lieforfun



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Apocalypse, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bounty Hunter Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, COVID-19, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags coming, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Steve Rogers, Top Steve Rogers, Whump, graphic descriptions of broken bones, graphic descriptions of open wounds, you just have to hold on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieforfun/pseuds/lieforfun
Summary: Steve Rogers is a bounty hunter set out in an apocalyptic future, in search of a spy working for the other side. He comes across a kid desperate for help, and Steve realizes that he can’t leave the kid alone to die. Together they set off for a Blue Ribbon State with a doctor.ORBucky Barnes' really, really, really bad day.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	1. Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the tags. This is not a story for the weak of mind. Most of the information I've used in this story is based on what is actually happening, but I have fudged the facts a few times. Please don't take anything in this story as truth; it's literally just my imagination going rampant while being trapped in quarantine. 
> 
> With that said, enjoy!

The air was a special type of dusty, hot as though a brand was being pressed against any open skin Steve had managed to keep uncovered. The leather jacket and helmet helped keep the sand at bay, but he felt the gritty substance between his teeth and in his nose. He’d been riding for a few hours now, save for the few stops on the way at seemingly abandoned roadside corner shops for gas. 

Steve knew there was something wrong the moment he woke up that morning and started his bike. He could feel it in his bones, in the way his lungs moved in time with the wind. He could feel it in the ground, in the dirt that moved beneath the wheels. Something was wrong.

He didn’t expect himself to find the kind of trouble he was trying to adamantly avoid when he pulled into the next town over, to patch a hole in one of his tires. The town was barren, overrun with pigeons and javelina through the abandoned buildings that faced one another. An empty bar that hadn’t been touched in years stood opposite to – wouldn’t you know it – a gas station.

After pulling off his helmet and securing his mask, Steve looked around tentatively; mind racing against the possibilities of attack. There may not be anyone he could see in the immediate vicinity, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t anyone hiding around the corner or beneath the ground. His paranoia tended to pay off, in recent years. Too many times where he escaped with his life by mere seconds, and had he not trusted his gut, he’d be worse than dead now. He scanned the area before ultimately deciding it was safe enough, pushing his bike forward and leaning it against a pump.

He didn’t have a stand so, to his dismay, he had to remove the wheel altogether in order to repair the tire. Sighing, he began to remove the screws.

“Help!” The voice belonged to a young man, ringing out through the empty town and startled Steve enough to drop his screwdriver. “Somebody, help me!”

The voice was ragged, scratchy, as if the person had been calling for several hours now. Steve had been in the town for at least 20 minutes before he started yelling, so he wondered who knew he was there and just how long the person had been there to begin calling for help again.

Steve dropped low, abandoning his bike in order to grip his gun holster in his belt and the hunting knife he kept on the other side, beginning to stalk the street coming forward towards where the voice had first rung out. 

Steve made his way across the crumbling road, ready to draw out his weapons. The voice was still calling out and the desperation was evident. “Someone, please help!” The unknown man’s voice cried out again. Steve felt uncertainty rise up inside him, running into his veins. He considered for a moment, not going in to help the man, but what if this person really did need Steve’s help?

He arrived in front of the building, its windows were shattered and covered in grit and dust. Steve was mindful to avoid stepping on the glass, not wanting to alert possible attackers, if this was some sort of trap. He stepped into the abandoned shop, the shelves within emptied out long ago. 

Nothing had ever been the same after COVID-19. At first, it had been as harmful as pneumonia, it had spread all around the globe, creating a pandemic that most took too lightly. The virus had mutated into something worse,something  _ much _ worse. Those caught COVID-19 after the last mutation, died within hours. Everyone, everywhere was on lockdown, limited time out in the open to gather the necessities, even a curfew. Yet somehow it managed to wipe out more than half of the world's population. 

Steve pulled out his gun as silently as he could manage; meaning the sound it made was quieter than his breath. Placing his left hand underneath the base to support the weight, he kept it lowered towards the ground. His eyes scanned the crumbling place, searching for the slightest movement, listening for the sound of feet against pavement, anything that could alert him to another person's whereabouts. . Adrenaline was pumping through his system, edging closer to the back of the store. A rat scurried in front of him and Steve watched before moving forward. 

He was almost at the back of the store when suddenly the voice called out once more. “Please, I- I can’t move!” When Steve turned to the left he saw him. Underneath the broken excuse of an awning against the building, a young man with grey eyes, laying on the ground clutching his leg. When their eyes met, Steve could see the toll the boy’s suffering had taken on him. Dark rimmed circles around wide eyes, face and hair spattered with dirt and blood, and lips chapped so much that if he so chose, he could reach up and rip them off. Steve could see the pain, the fear, and even desperation. The uneasy feeling hadn’t left. 

Internally, Steve groaned. This was a  _ bad _ idea. This was a bad idea and this was a bad place to have said bad idea. But when the bad idea looked up at him pleadingly, Steve broke. Ultimately, Steve wasn’t a bad person, but he had to be careful on this one. He checked his surroundings once more before holstering his gun and kneeling down by the man.

“What’s your name, kid?” Steve muttered vaguely in the direction of the brunette as he started to examine his leg. 

“Bucky,” he replied, breathless with the strength it took to adjust his leg long enough for Steve to cut the leg off his pants. 

Steve’s diagnosis for the leg was that if it had been left like that for much longer, it would have needed to be amputated. Bucky’s shins had fractured right through the middle, a shin splint so bad he could see the bone peeking out from beneath the skin, pushing the muscles forward and into the air. It needed to be splinted, immediately, but the best he could do was take the jean fabric he’d cut off Bucky’s pants and tie it tightly around the bone. 

“Bucky,” Steve repeated, looking up to meet the boy’s frightened stare. “Your leg is fractured. I need to set it straight, at least enough to keep it from digging into the surrounding muscle and giving you an infection.” 

“Okay,” Bucky said hesitantly, still staring at Steve as if he might cut his leg completely off and run away with it. 

“That means it’s going to hurt. A lot.” 

“With all due respect mister, it already hurts a lot.” Apparently Bucky had enough energy to sass him. Fine. 

Steve began to pull a roll of bandages out of his pant pockets. The best place to keep bandages is on your person at all times, or else someone might try to kill you for them, and then you can’t reach them when you need them, and they’re gone forever. 

Quietly, he set to work on preparing the stiff jean fabric and the roll of bandages. Bucky was silent during this part, alternating between watching Steve work and keeping his eyes peeled for anyone that might come along while Steve was busy. Then the time came when Steve had to move the bone. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked in a whisper, watching as Steve pulled back to unhook his knife and sheath from his belt. 

“Bite it,” Steve said, offering the weapon to the younger man. Bucky quickly seemed to understand, and fit the leather between his teeth and gripped the metal pole attached to the awning beside him as if his life depended on it. Taking a deep breath and steadying himself, Steve began to feel around the skin for the protrusion. 

Steve could feel Bucky tense up, and from a quick glance, the boy’s face was crumpled up in anguish, biting the leather so hard it looked as though his teeth might crack. Steve felt for the kid, attempting to be as gentle as possible as he pushed the offending mass back to fit against the bone. Bucky was panting now, grunting in agony during the process. When Steve finally held the bone together with one hand, tears rolled down his face as he tried not to scream. 

“On the count of three I’m gonna reset your leg, okay?” Steve told him firmly but gently, setting his hands on the injured limb. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Bucky wince slightly. “Ready?” Steve’s voice was calm and steady as it filled Bucky’s ears. Bucky nodded once more. “One,” Steve didn’t hesitate, pressing on to the bone, pushing it back into place. Bucky screamed out against the knife, in pain and in surprise. 

Steve felt a hint of guilt settle in his gut as he looked back up to meet Bucky’s eyes. The brunette ripped the knife out of his mouth. “What the fuck?! You said three!” Bucky barked. 

“Anticipating pain only makes it feel worse.” Steve explained, giving the man opposite of him a knowing look, before beginning to wrap the bandages around the punctured skin firmly. 

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Fuckin’ hurt, mister.” Steve noted his words with a glance. 

“Sorry, kiddo.” Steve muttered. He pulled the jean scrap beneath the leg up, tying it tightly around the break. He felt the air Bucky sucked through his teeth at the pain. 

He finished the bandage process and held a hand out to the boy. “My name is Steve Rogers. Are you out here alone, Bucky?” 

Bucky nodded, his skin flushed a sickly pale and long hair matted to his skin with sweat. He looked positively green. He certainly hadn’t showered in days, maybe weeks, and the sight pulled on Steve’s heartstrings. 

“Listen, sir, Mr. Rogers,” Bucky rasped out, suddenly looking panicked again. “I’ve got to tell you-” 

“Tell me what?” Steve frowned, that nagging feeling back full force, like he’s in a bad place, he needs to get out- 

“Look, I’m really sorry, they’ve been waiting,” His voice seemed to squeak out faster than he could move his mouth. “They left me here-” 

Time seemed to stand still. The sight of Bucky’s wild eyes, filled with fear and panic. Steve knew in the back of his mind that this was all a set up. This kid was seriously injured, so maybe that justified what Steve was about to do. 


	2. Grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the events that build the plot of this story are real, any and all 'facts' written in are fiction. This story also contains several scenes of graphic violence. Please keep this in mind before venturing further.

He could hear him before he could see him. A thick arm snapped around his neck while the other hand clasped over his mouth and nose, blocking out his airways. Steve stays frozen, feeling the dirt and sweat smear over his face, if not for his own sake then for the kid’s. The boy looked terrorized, like an abandoned child left to fend for itself in the dust. 

“What do we have here?” A voice rasped out.

Steve rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to bite his canines into the disgusting palm held over his face. He’d only met one person in his lifetime that would be willing to sink to levels this low, as to use a kid as bait. Rumlow. The slimeball himself, a warrant out for his arrest and several hundred thousand dollars missing from private savings and Steve has been searching for him for months. What a coincidence. 

“Steve fuckin’ Rogers.” Anger is itching at him, crawling under his skin because he can’t get over the fact that he used a  _ kid  _ to catch some poor SOB who happened to be out in the middle of a no-name town. More men step out from their hiding spots as Bucky looks at the ground with his head hung in shame. There has got to be at least ten of these goons from what he can see. 

Behind closed lips Steve grits his teeth and scowls. Rumlow didn’t do anything to restrain his hands. Steve filed that information into the back of his mind as Rumlow removed the hand over his mouth and used it to place a gun into the small of Steve’s back. 

“Rumlow,” Steve greeted calmly, directing a stern glare down at Bucky. 

“The trap was out here to catch flies, but oh, looks like a whole mouse done got ‘itself caught in the glue.” Rumlow’s voice was gritty and tight, but came out like striped velvet. “I’m surprised at you, Rogers.” 

Steve said nothing in response. His fingers itched to reach for his gun, but any movement now might be an invitation for a shoot out. Bucky was still immobile on the ground. 

Rumlow moved quickly, his arm recoiling from around Steve’s neck to grasp the long hairs that gathered at the top of his head, moving the gun up his back and against the base of Steve’s skull and clanking it harshly against the solid bone there. Rumlow pulled the strands of hair into his fist and pulled Steve’s head back at an awkward, and painful angle, forcing the bounty hunter to suck in a breath and shut his eyes against the pain. Steve could feel strands of hair being ripped out at the roots between the man’s fingers. 

“Strip him,” Rumlow ordered, and two of his men rushed forward, patting Steve down and taking his weapons off his person. Silently, Steve cursed. So much for reaching for his gun. The only thing on him left was a pocket knife sewn into the leather in his boots, and that wasn’t going to do much now. 

Rumlow leaned against him, his sweaty and slick skin sliding against Steve’s as he pressed his lips to the shell of his ear. Steve winced against the feeling of his hot breath as he spoke. “You’re much too noble, Steve, for your own good.” 

His face was upturned, he couldn’t see the boy he’d helped minutes ago, but he heard the muffled scream when one of the men tripped over his injured leg. Steve sucked in a breath, a hot flash of rage coursing through him, but he remained still. Bursts of heavy sobs filled the air, as well as laughter at the boy’s pain. 

Rumlow barked a laugh as well, pulling the gun off the base of Steve’s skull for a moment to wave the weapon around in the air, giving Steve an opportunity to throw all the strength he’s got into headbutting his captor’s chin and successfully ripping out more strands of hair into Rumlow’s fist. Rumlow screamed out and though Steve didn’t waste any time to see what the damage had been, he thought he could see blood rippling out of the corner’s of the man’s mouth. 

Steve ripped his way out of the man’s grasp, using the fact that his hands were occupied by covering his mouth in pain to grip Rumlow’s neck and slam him face first into a nearby concrete slab. He heard a sickening crunch as the man’s nose was crushed under the pressure. The others lunged at him, but he ducked just in time as it seemed. He reached for one of the men’s hoodies and pulled it over the man’s eyes before lifting his knee and shoving it roughly into his groin, releasing the man’s body of which fell with a grunt of pain. 

The second man came at him, followed quickly by the third, and Steve grinned. He side-stepped the two men, wrapping an arm around the waist of the second man and using that leverage to claw at his face, feeling his nails scrape at the soft skin underneath and around the man’s eyes as he patted around for a weapon- and found one. He gripped the gun tightly, using it to knock the heavy metal handle into the base of the man’s skull, then on the temple, watching his body crumple to the ground. 

The other man watched placidly, not sure what his next move was, when Steve cocked the gun and aimed it straight at the man’s face. Steve could almost  _ hear _ him swallow before stepping back, and around the blockade they had made surrounding Bucky, disappearing into the surrounding buildings along with the rest of the men who obviously decided it wasn’t worth staying with their leader. 

Rumlow groaned on the ground, his hands still plastered to his face, and Steve glanced down at him. This, in any other circumstance, would have been a fantastic chain of events. He could bring Rumlow in now, get the warrant money, and be on his merry fucking way. Not having to look for the bastard again this year would leave momentous amounts of free time. He could go back to the base, spend some time rebuilding with the others, and start again when the next year began. Steve sighed wholeheartedly, and turned back towards the injured boy. 

Bucky was curled over his broken leg protectively; small, startled whimpers and sobs burst from him periodically when Steve stood over him. Bucky looked up, eyes wide and fearful, tear tracks like craters in the boy’s smooth skin. Steve kneeled down next to him. 

“Do you think you can stand?” Steve muttered, assessing the rest of him sternly with squinted eyes. 

Bucky said nothing, but his brows furrowed in confusion and he hiccuped his next breath. Steve didn’t give him time to decide; he leaned down and grasped Bucky by the waist, hauling him up and over his shoulders as he stood, startling a squeak out of the boy. Careful not to move his bad leg more than necessary, Steve began to trek his way back to his bike, the incessant feeling of danger having dissipated with Bucky slung over his shoulders and gripping him tightly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by both myself and my lovely dear @teeltes-and-other-things.tumblr.com at the same time. Literally. Google docs is a beautiful thing.   
> Please let me know if anything seems off, or if I missed anything in the edits! 
> 
> Shameless plug- Follow me on tumblr! @portionsofpoetry.tumblr.com


	3. Antiquity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of history for ya.

It seemed that years ago, the world had started hurtling towards destruction. The virus itself came to be in 2019, escaping a study in Wuhan and becoming volatile towards humans. Though it spent most of its existence being considered biological warfare conceived by the Chinese government, official name COVID-19, and mutation following SARS-CoV-2 virus.

The respiratory virus was considered more contagious than influenza. While the virus was not as fatal as it’s predecessor, it quickly mutated into something more sinister than that. It was said that the virus could go undetected for up to 18 days, but still be transmittable through coughing and airborne particles. It was something that most of humanity ignored relentlessly. There were riots over wearing protective gear, the state shutdowns were met with violent protests.  _ It’s just a cold,  _ they would scream. 

Over the last four years however, it mutated into something much, much worse. The fatalities grew into the millions and eventually, billions. Nearly half the population were struck dead with the illness, and the people still ignored the warnings. They still ignored their loved ones and immunocompromised society and their desperate cries for help. 

The same year, the US government became volatile. Decisions made without the consent of the public, and the few people who stood by and attempted to lesson the spread of the virus were enraged by the reopening of states without concern for the ongoing pandemic. The people realized quickly that a revolution was long overdue, and began movements to eradicate the militarized police force. This was in the year after the initial findings of COVID-19. 

They succeed in the year 2022. Police unions were dispersed, and the military did not cross through the autonomous zones in the left-leaning states. California, New Mexico, Oregon, Nevada, Washington, New York, Maine, Massachusetts and Vermont successfully seceded from the US government. This became the Blue Ribbon States [open to change] 

With the criminal justice system unusable within the BRS, elected officials were set in each quarter to keep track of criminal activity and set reforms for the convicted. This is where Steve came in. 

Steve had joined the police force out of highschool, unsure of where he wanted to go but knowing that he wanted to  _ help _ . In his mind, he’d grown up believing that the police force was inherently good. They upheld laws and rules that protected people, and he believed in that. 

During the 2020 riots, he was witness to chemical warfare used against his country’s citizens. After day one, he stripped his uniform and vowed to be part of the change. 

The day he met Nick Fury, the now elected official over Nevada once it had seceded, was several weeks after the beginning of the 2020 riots, late July, and he learned how to do what he does now. 

Over the last two years, Steve had made it his goal to hunt down and capture convicts that attempted to maliciously bring down the union of the BRS. Right-leaning spies and assassins, bringing information back to the American government. His job was to catch them before they made their move. 

Rumlow had been an American spy, but he was outed within 6 months of his disposition. Over time, he collected other men and connections during his journey, and had become more of a threat than Fury was comfortable with. Steve had been chasing his tail for months now. 

Steve would kick himself for this incident, but Fury would be frustrated beyond belief. 

He still had not managed to fix the wheel of his bike, but he didn’t want to stay there any longer than he had to, what with Bucky’s condition. He managed to find an abandoned van with a charge (those were always the best bet; work vans were hard to put down) hot wiring a car was a skill he’d learned long before COVID-19. Plus, the car had about 3 quarters of a tank full, which was beyond lucky in their situation. 

Bucky sat in the passenger seat, leaned back so he could keep his leg as straight as possible. He said very little before Steve left to roll his bike back to their van, but his mouth dropped open in shock when he watched Steve  _ lift the motorcycle into the back of the van _ . 

Bucky shifted closer to the passenger side door (closer to an escape route) when Steve collapsed into the driver’s side and started the van. The brakes creaked and squealed, but before they knew it, they were speeding down Highway 20B. 

It had been over an hour before words were spoken between them. 

“Where are we going?” Bucky’s voice sounded rough and scratchy. Steve winced at the sound, knowing it must hurt from screaming. He made a mental note to see if the van had any unopened water bottles. 

“There’s a camp set up off the border of New Mexico,” Steve explained without taking his eyes off the road. “If we can get there, we can get your leg fixed up, and get you set up with supplies and a place to go.” 

Steve could feel Bucky’s eyes burning at his temple, but he refused to look the boy in the eyes. 

“Why did you take me with you?” Bucky’s confidence was surprising, but Steve’s face remained neutral. “You could have easily just left me there for them to find later!” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ pig,” Steve said quietly. “Sit still. We’ll stop when we get far enough out of the area.” 

Bucky huffed, and turned to look out the window. The pain in his leg wasn’t sharp like it was before, only flaring up in anguish when he moved it just so. A dull and aching agony consumed his lower half and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. 

Doctors were ridiculously hard to come by, especially if you were just off the way of the autonomous zones. Before, during the riots, they were everywhere. They assisted against the attacks of the police, pieced rubber bullet wounds and tear gas injuries back together, before they became targets. Well known doctors were found killed in their homes, they were targeted on the sidelines with pepper spray and rubber bullets. Lesser known specialists began to disappear, one by one, over the course of the year. If you had any medical training, you were advised to go into hiding and, if you chose to, service patients in facilities that were heavily guarded. 

Bucky gazed out into the endless desert, watching closely for signs of life. He tried desperately not to think about the likelihood of losing his leg. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me: https://portionsofpoetry.tumblr.com/  
> Find Hannah: https://teetles-and-other-stuff.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Arthur on tumblr at @portionsofpoetry  
> You can find Hannah on tumblr at @teetles-and-other-stuff  
> You can find author notes, ramblings, early posts, and more on either blogs. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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